


Hold You Up and Drive You

by miss_begonia



Category: Glee
Genre: Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the giving up, the way he gives himself up to Kurt, the slackness of his muscles saying <i>do it. Make me do it.</i></p>
<p>So Kurt does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold You Up and Drive You

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up through 3x14, but goes slightly non-canon compliant with that episode because the timeline in it doesn’t make sense anyway. So consider this somewhat AU.
> 
> Title taken, somewhat predictably, from the song "Drive" by Melissa Ferrick.

It’s not something Blaine says, or even something he does. It’s the heat, the way his eyes sharpen when Kurt holds him down. It’s the line of his jaw and the angle of his neck, his curls sweaty and spread out over the pillow as he twists his hips.   
  
It’s the giving up, the way he gives himself up to Kurt, the slackness of his muscles saying  _do it. Make me do it._  
  
So Kurt does.  
  
  
*  
  
  
It doesn’t come easy, this…patience. Kurt is barely 18 and Blaine pretends to have unshakeable confidence but they are still kids, really. The Internet may be great, but there’s no sex guide in the universe that can keep Kurt from screwing this up.  
  
If Kurt Hummel is anything, though, he’s persistent, and he wants to make this work. He wants to give Blaine what he wants.  
  
The first time he tries they're in Blaine’s bed, Blaine spread out underneath Kurt and arching up into the press of Kurt's fingers.  
  
He could keep going. Blaine is close. He can feel it. But Kurt. Just. Stops. Stops moving, stops pressing, ignores Blaine's pained little sounds and leans down and murmurs against his cheek, "Blaine, baby, if you want it, you have to tell me."  
  
Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and goes pink and his breathing hitches.  
  
"I want...harder, Kurt," he whispers, and Kurt pushes his fingers in a little bit harder, but not much, not enough.  
  
Blaine whimpers.  
  
"Blaine," Kurt says, a warning, gentle but not gentle at all.  
  
"Harder, as hard as you can do it, I want to feel it, I want to feel it tomorrow, I want--"  
  
…and Kurt does it harder, does it until Blaine can't form words anymore, only moans and hurried exhales.  
  
  
*  
  
  
They try again a few days later, alone at last in Kurt’s room while Carole and Burt watch nature specials downstairs at high volume. Kurt straddles Blaine and presses his palms into his hips, hard enough to hurt a little, and licks under his jaw where his stubble is coming in. Blaine hisses and bucks and resists and Kurt feels it strum through him, this new power thrill.  
  
“Don’t move,” Kurt orders, and Blaine blinks up at him, lips parting.  
  
“O-okay,” Blaine says.  
  
 _God_. Blaine is like some kind of dirty dream, his hands flexing against the sheets as his hips still.  
  
“I—“ Kurt starts, then hesitates.  
  
“Do it,” Blaine says.  
  
But Kurt doesn’t know what to do. They’d barely started making out, and there are a lot of options now that they’ve long since ditched the  _no hands south of the border_  parameters. He’s honestly confused.  
  
“Do  _what_ , Blaine?” Kurt asks, before he can stop himself.  
  
Blaine just stares.  
  
“Um,” he says. “I—I don’t really know.”  
  
Kurt lets out a surprised laugh. Blaine narrows his eyes at him and reaches up and pulls Kurt down until he collapses on top of him with an undignified grunt. Blaine slides his hand up over the fabric of the back of his shirt, but Kurt can’t help it – he’s still laughing, shaking silently against him. Blaine makes a grumbling sound and pushes his palm under the front of Kurt’s shirt, making him shiver.   
  
Kurt is insanely ticklish. It’s his kryptonite.  
  
“Do you need, like, an a la carte menu?” Kurt asks, snickering. “Like – McDonald’s-style Extra Value Meal-type—“  
  
“Oh, that is it,” Blaine says, and flutters his fingertips over Kurt’s stomach in a way that has Kurt instantly doubled over and laughing so hard he’s gasping for air.  
  
“Unfair,” Kurt says. “Dirty pool, Anderson—“  
  
Blaine strokes his hands along Kurt’s sides, up until he’s just under his armpits, and Kurt twitches and groans.  
  
“You are so hot,” Blaine says, sounding awed, and it is so the opposite of what Kurt expected that he actually stops squirming.  
  
“You are so  _weird_ ,” Kurt says.  
  
Blaine arches an eyebrow in that infuriating way that means  _I am so so right and you have no evidence to counter my indisputable facts_.  
  
“Would it be hot if I did…this?” Kurt asks, and catches Blaine’s hands in his, moving them away from his body so Blaine can torment him no longer.  
  
Blaine makes a concerted effort to tickle him again, but Kurt pins him down to the bed.   
  
He can see the moment it hits Blaine. He arches his back and his eyelashes flutter and his skin begins to tint pink.  
  
“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt whispers.  
  
Blaine bites his lip, his flush deepening.  
  
“I want to touch you everywhere,” Kurt murmurs, feeling his own cheeks heat.  
  
Blaine is staring at him openly now, his lips parted. The tension has drained from his arms. He’s stopped resisting.  
  
“Everywhere?” Blaine asks. His voice is hoarse.  
  
“Touch and lick you everywhere,” Kurt says. “Lick you until you’re breathing hard, until you get hard underneath me. Lick you  _everywhere_ , Blaine.”  
  
Blaine licks his lips, his tongue a teasing flicker.  
  
“Kurt,” he says, so softly. “Please?”  
  
  
*  
  
  
The moment Kurt watches Blaine fall is one of the worst of his life, worse than any time he’s fallen himself, fallen or been pushed.  
  
The red liquid streaked across Blaine’s cheek and staining the floor, the sounds he makes, God. In another context, they might be mistaken for the good kind of groans, desperate and uncontrolled, but in the ambulance on the way to the hospital Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand tightly between his own and wishes for vengeance and violence and silence.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Post-Slushie assault, they spend a lot of time curled up on Blaine’s huge bed, Blaine nodding off against Kurt’s shoulder into a painkiller-induced slumber as Kurt cards his fingers through Blaine’s hair. Kurt loves moments like this, but he can’t help it: he misses the sex, especially since they’ve gotten so  _good_  at it. Part of him thinks – viciously – that Sebastian still won, no matter how stupid they made him look in front of his friends. He succeeded in keeping Kurt and Blaine from being as intimate as they can be, just at the point when they’d begun to understand what that intimacy can mean.  
  
Then Valentine’s Day happens and Kurt falls for Blaine all over again, watching him sing suggestive songs directly to Kurt in a room full of people, dirty smirk an invitation under the tilted brim of his ridiculous porkpie hat.  
  
Kurt knows a challenge when he sees one.  
  
When Blaine slips off his stupid heart-shaped eyepatch (where does Blaine find these things? Did he  _make_  it?) Kurt knows it is  _on_. Blaine tugs Kurt in by his tie and his eyes flash and it’s all Kurt can do not to throw him down on the floor of the Sugar Shack and show all his friends what love really means.  
  
They make it all the way home and into Kurt’s bedroom before he tackles Blaine to the bed and hisses, “You  _tease_.”  
  
Blaine just laughs at him, and oh, how Kurt has missed that.  
  
“I’m gonna make you regret that,” Kurt says, shifting his hips and letting Blaine feel how hard he is already.  
  
Blaine’s eyes widen, but he still looks amused.  
  
“I highly doubt it,” Blaine says.  
  
Kurt slides his palms along Blaine’s arms, pushing them back against the mattress, holding him down.  
  
“Do you want this?” Kurt asks, his voice already dipping into his lower register. He is so easy for Blaine. So, so easy.  
  
Blaine closes his eyes and nods, two jerks of his head. Kurt can feel him flex his wrists under Kurt’s grip like he’s testing him, and he tightens his grip.  
  
“Are you sure?” Kurt asks. “I don’t want to—“  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine breathes, “I think the point of all this is you never have to ask.”  
  
And that’s it, the first time Blaine’s ever acknowledged that what they’re doing here is something different. Not so vanilla.  
  
Though Kurt’s not sure Blaine’s so right about the not asking.  
  
“I—“ Kurt starts, then thinks better of it.  
  
Instead he pulls back, releasing Blaine’s wrists, and begins to untie his own tie.  
  
Blaine blinks up at him, slightly baffled.  
  
Kurt savors the moment when he gets it. Blaine’s mouth curves up at one corner and he stays still, watching, waiting, until Kurt finishes untying his own tie and goes for Blaine’s.  
  
There is something strangely erotic about using Blaine’s own clothing to restrain him, this silly little bowtie that Blaine wears in public, his dapper signature accessory (and thank God it’s not a clip-on – for so many reasons. Kurt doesn’t think he could ever date a guy who wears clip-ons, but just for the convenience factor alone—). But once the bowtie comes off and Kurt slips it around Blaine’s wrist and between the bars of his headboard, it’s no longer clothing. It’s a way to hold him down, hold him back, until Kurt decides to set him free.  
  
Kurt takes in a shaky breath. Blaine is already breathing heavily. Kurt shifts on top of him, sitting back on his thighs and running his fingers along the waistband of Blaine’s jeans. He undoes the button and starts to pull down the zipper. Blaine is so—he’s sweating already, his skin hot under Kurt’s fingers. It's easy to get distracted by Blaine's abs and the way they shiver when Kurt brushes his fingers along the lines of his ribs, or the fine, dark hairs that lead down to everything still covered up by Blaine's boxers.  
  
Kurt could keep Blaine like this for hours, brushing his fingertips along the lines and curves of Blaine’s muscles, watching the way Blaine strains against the ties, strains and pulls but still tries to preserve some semblance of control. He loves the shape of Blaine’s body, all the shapes, the places he’s hard and soft. He wants to paint a picture with his hands.  
  
And the sounds he makes,  _oh_ , the choked off moans and sighs and even the way he breathes, the shivery inhales and difficult exhales. Kurt knows it must hurt, a little or maybe even a lot, Blaine being on edge for so long, but he loves Blaine like this. He loves Blaine like this and he knows Blaine loves being like this, loves the way Kurt takes care of him, loves the slow torture and the tension and the build-up, the moment it all dissolves into pleasure when Kurt gives in and strokes or thrusts.  
  
Blaine pants against his mouth and twists underneath him and mumbles things that don’t make sense, sometimes just Kurt’s name, over and over,  _Kurt Kurt Kurt KurtKurtKurt_  and then  _please I want please I need please please Kurt, you - please_. Kurt kisses down the line of his exposed throat as he slides his hand into Blaine’s pants, slow, so slow, feeling how hard he is, how breathless. He wants Blaine to touch him but mostly he doesn’t want Blaine to be able to touch himself. He wants to be the only one touching him, the only one who gets to see him like this, the only one who can do this to him.  
  
And when Blaine’s eyes flutter open and he holds Kurt’s gaze, Kurt knows Blaine wants that too.  
  
  
*  
  
  
It only goes wrong once.  
  
To be fair, there is probably no way it could have gone right.  
  
After visiting Karofsky at the hospital, Kurt goes directly to Blaine’s house, unable to deal with the sad, soft looks his dad and Carole have been giving him constantly, or Finn’s confused attempts at “brotherly-ness” in this impossibly awful situation. He’s tired of people trying to make him feel better. There is no way for him to feel better. He can only take comfort in the fact that he’s pretty sure there’s no way he could feel worse.  
  
He knows Blaine will simply hold him, and that is exactly what Blaine does. He meets Kurt at his front door and sees Kurt’s face and pulls him in, sliding his hands around Kurt’s waist and pressing their bodies together as close as they can possibly be.  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine murmurs, and Kurt tilts his head down just enough so they can kiss, a light brush of the lips.  
  
“Can we go upstairs?” Kurt asks, and Blaine nods, separating enough that they can climb the stairs but not letting go of his hand. Once they are inside Blaine’s room they stand there, both unsure of what to do or where to go.  
  
“How is he?” Blaine asks.  
  
It’s such a complicated question.   
  
Kurt lets his eyes skim the floor. “He’s – getting better. I think. He’ll get better.”  
  
Blaine nods. He winds their fingers together, his hands so warm around Kurt’s still cold ones.  
  
“You know, even when – even when he was calling me names, beating me up, making my life hell?” Kurt says. “I never would have wished this on David. I never—“  
  
“Kurt, I know,” Blaine says, bringing his hand up to cup Kurt’s cheek. “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re not—“  
  
“But I didn’t help him,” Kurt says. “He was going through the same things I went through, and I wasn’t even there to help him.”  
  
“No,” Blaine says, sharply, and Kurt looks up to meet Blaine’s eyes. “I mean – I know you feel this way, and I understand why you do, but you have to know – it is not your fault. It is not your fault because you had no way of knowing that—“  
  
“If I’d picked up my fucking phone,” Kurt says. “If I’d just done that, I could have…”  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine says, and squeezes his shoulder, fingers digging in just hard enough to pinch, “you can’t blame yourself for not wanting to answer the calls of a guy who made you so uncomfortable, who scared you, who you have this – this history with. You know Karofsky doesn’t blame you for all this. You can’t blame yourself.”  
  
“But I do blame myself,” Kurt says, voice going high. “I  _do_.”  
  
Blaine kisses him. He knows Blaine kisses him because he doesn’t know what else to do, and because he wants to show Kurt he loves him, and maybe to distract him a little, too. It feels good because it always feels good, and Blaine’s mouth is warm and gentle against his, pressing and holding and keeping Kurt still, for once. Kurt needs to learn to keep still.  
  
Which doesn’t explain why Kurt spins Blaine around and pushes him into the door, hard, crowding him against it, his chest to Blaine’s back. He feels Blaine shudder, his hands coming up to press along the wood of the door above his head.  
  
He flicks his tongue along the back of Blaine’s neck, tracing a crooked line from the nape to the top vertebrae of his spine. He can feel Blaine shaking. It scares him, how much this turns him on.  
  
“Are your parents—“ Kurt says.  
  
“Not home,” Blaine says, voice stretched thin. “At some dinner with a client of my dad’s.”  
  
“If I ask you nicely,” Kurt murmurs, “will you keep your hands where they are until I tell you to move?”  
  
Blaine takes a moment to answer. When he does his voice is nearly gone.  
  
“You don’t even have to ask me nicely.”  
  
Kurt wonders, sometimes, what exquisite and wonderful thing he ever did that led to him meeting and falling in love with Blaine. It must have been something amazing, because he has no idea how he deserves this.  
  
Blaine is there, and Blaine is so willing, and Blaine is so beautiful, and Blaine feels so good.  
  
But Kurt can’t do it.  
  
He steps away and drops his hands to his sides.  
  
Blaine doesn’t move. Kurt’s chest hurts.  
  
“When I do this to you,” Kurt says, “when I hold you down or push you into doors or walls, when I leave bruises on your wrists and your neck – how am I different than those boys who hurt you at that dance, or Karofsky, shoving me into lockers and—“  
  
Blaine turns then, and the expression on his face stops Kurt’s seemingly never-ending stream of words.  
  
“Because you’re not them,” Blaine says simply. “And because I trust you.”  
  
There are so many things Kurt loves about Blaine: the tight curve of his shoulders, the sweet vulnerability of his singing voice, the way he moves and laughs and smiles and cries at dumb romantic movies, his quiet hero complex and his sartorial precision—the list is long, and ever-growing.  
  
But sometimes this is what Kurt thinks he loves the most.  
  
The way he makes everything seem clear, and possible, and  _better_.  
  
Kurt holds out his hand for Blaine’s. When Blaine takes it, a glimmer of a smile pushes up the corner of his mouth.  
  
“I love you,” Kurt says.  
  
Blaine’s smile blossoms out and across his face.  
  
“I love you too,” he whispers.  
  
  
*  
  
  
That night, Blaine’s parents call to tell Blaine they aren’t coming home: the dinner was in Columbus and they booked a hotel room because they didn’t feel like driving back so late.  
  
Kurt calls his dad and tells him he’s staying at Mercedes’, and for once he doesn’t feel bad for lying.  
  
He and Blaine don’t have sex. Instead they just hold each other, their bodies fitting together like parts of an engine. Kurt wakes in the morning without ever remembering falling asleep.  
  
At school the next day, Kurt texts Blaine a series of messages detailing all the things he wants to do to him involving rope and massage oil and many, many hours of uninterrupted alone time.  
  
Blaine is so flustered by the time he meets up with Kurt at Glee practice that Santana puts him on the spot and asks him increasingly inappropriate questions until Blaine is the color of a ripe tomato.  
  
Kurt has no regrets.  
  
  
[end]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(podfic of) Hold You Up And Drive You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/409135) by [Crazybutsound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazybutsound/pseuds/Crazybutsound)




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